


Seven Star Service

by Britpacker



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travelling in luxury with the PM's party is supposed to be one of the perks of the job.  Sam finds a pleasant way to remind her boss of that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As I'm having a bit of a fight with my other fic at the moment, here's a bit of pointless smut to pass the time!

“Bloody hell, have they mistaken you for Prince Charles or something?”

“Christ I hope not, that’d be a fuckin’ come-down.” Malcolm Tucker surveyed the cavernous marble, gilt and crystal _Arabian Nights_ suite into which his battered black suitcase had been deposited with the scandalised air of a nun thrown head-first into a whore-house. “First thing I’m doing after the reception is checking out and finding a fuckin’ Travel Lodge! I’m no’ stoppin’ in this fucking sandcastle Versailles for anybody!”

“It’s _supposed_ to be a perk of the job, Malc.” She’d seen the literature on the plane. Samantha Cassidy – her full name on the lapel badge, just as it was on her bloody passport – had been even more careful than usual in hiding unwelcome evidence from her boss.

At the time – and the Prime Minister had agreed – it had seemed like a wise move. Now, watching him pace his opulently gilded cage with lowering brows and ice in his eyes, she began to wonder whether a little advance notification would have been such a dangerous thing. 

“The P.M’s the honoured guest of the Sheik. You’re part of the P.M’s senior staff. It’s their equivalent of putting us up at Chequers, and you never complain about that!”

“Chequers is four hundred fucking years old girl, and it shows.” Weathered stone, water pipes that gurgled like an upset stomach and elderly soft furnishings that smelled of dust and time. Yes, Sam could appreciate why a man with no discernible appreciation for history might prefer that kind of faded grandeur to all this airy-arched, brittle, glittering gold-edged modernity 

“Hell of a bathroom, though,” she remarked, wandering past the enormous canopied white bed while schooling herself to ignore its obvious temptations. “Mine’s good, but – oh, _God_!"

“What?” He had to attend the official reception. She should have known it’d make him irritable. 

If there was one thing Malcolm Tucker hated more than gaudy ostentation, it was formality. Combine the two and you created his idea of Hell. 

Then populate it with grovelling politicos of two different nationalities, a host of smarmy leading businessmen and all those half-cut travelling hacks sniffing for some scandal. Sam cast a last longing glance back into the cool marble splendour of his bathroom before turning to give him the encouraging smile of a mother with her toddling child. “At least when it’s over you can bang your head against the wall in luxury,” she observed. 

“Very fucking funny.” He slumped onto the edge of the bed, absently swatting at the fine gauzy draperies. On a gusty sigh Sam settled down beside him and wrapped an arm around his hunched shoulders. 

“I’d swap with you, if it’s any consolation,” she said, ignoring his snort. “I mean all I’m going to be doing while you’re scoffing their posh food and pretending rose water doesn’t make you heave is sitting on my bed watching Al Jazeera! My room’s not even got a bloody Jacuzzi, for goodness sake, and I’ve always wanted a go in one of those.” 

“Feel free to use mine.” He rubbed a thin hand over his face, gave his tie a sharp tug and hauled himself upright, reluctance in every long, lean line of him. Sam gave his arse a playful swipe. 

“Go and enjoy your canapés. You really don’t mind if I stay here…” 

She hadn’t meant that to sound flirtatious. Sam wasn’t even sure she knew how to deliberately _do_ flirtatious. Somehow, being alone with him, it just seemed to happen. 

When his lips curled up into a slow, secretive smile she decided that wasn’t such a bad thing. “Make yourself at home, darling. Anybody asks, you’re doing some paperwork for me, OK?” 

If anybody in the swanky reception asked where the secretary to the Director of Communications was hiding Sam would be amazed, but she knew better than to point out her menial status to him. “I’ll get comfortable then, shall I?” she cooed, letting herself flop backwards. Malcolm groaned. 

“You’re just making this difficult now, girl!” 

Before she could protest her innocence, he was gone. 


	2. The Lap Of Luxury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's been bored. He's frustrated. It's fortunate for both that help is at hand....

When he returned she was curled up in the middle of the gigantic bed, wrapped in the hotel’s fluffy _one-size-swamps-all_ extra large bathrobe and absently playing a game on her smartphone. “Changed your mind about the bath, then?” he enquired, slouching against the doorjamb.

“It’s too big for one person. Like the bed.” When she scrambled up the robe gaped open. Malcolm wasn’t sure that was entirely accidental.

Not that he’d have complained, even if the tantalising display of her generous curves shadowed and not-quite-shielded by the soft fabric hadn’t dried his throat, thereby rendering speech impossible. “So I thought maybe… we could share?”

“Which one?” he asked huskily. 

Sam stretched, causing the loosely-tied belt to come free . “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe both?”

He shucked out of his jacket, leaving it a grey puddle in the middle of the lush forest-green carpet. Gliding toward him Sam raised a peremptory hand and his slow smile spread, hands dropping to his sides in acknowledgement of her intentions. “Probably take a while to fill a tub that size,” he remarked, hitting the casual note with commendable ease. She chuckled.

“Oh, I started _that_ when I saw you leaving the party. Al Jazeera,” she added by way of explanation. Malcolm grunted.

“Well, 24-hour rolling news is good for something after all. Who’d’ve fuckin’ thunk it?”

Between the two of them his clothes didn’t stand a chance and by the time they padded into the marble bathroom they were both stark naked, sufficiently stimulated from the random touching undressing required that the minimal change in temperature between rooms made every tiny hair prickle. Watching her lover from the corner of her eye when he stooped to scoop a handful of frothy bubbles from the Himalayan range swirling around the high-sided circular tub, Sam suspected there was more than the ambient temperature at work in her case at least.

“Not fuckin’ gardenias and lilies, is it?” he questioned, dark grey brows drawn together in what anyone else would call an ominous frown. She grinned.

“It did cross my mind but I want you to shag me, not strangle me, thanks.”

From the wide ledge around the tub she snapped up a nondescript ivory coloured tube and popped the lid. “Sandalwood,” she announced, wafting it under his nose. “Acceptable?”

“More than.” Still, she reckoned only half his mind was on the scent, the rest preoccupied with the intricacies of the whirlpool’s submerged controls. “In you get then!”

She didn’t need inviting twice, mounting the steps and slipping beneath a swirl of temperate, plashing waves. “Aren’t you…” she hinted, distracted from the provocative splash against her body by the annoying realisation that he was kneeling on the edge of the bath, still fiddling with the bloody controls. _Typical man_ , she thought. He had to choose a moment like this to become fascinated by the sodding technology.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ impatient.” A little more twiddling and he had the jets pulsing just right. Carefully lowering his thin frame into the bath Malcolm curled his hands around her shoulders, gently easing her a fraction to the left. If she understood what he was doing, it seemed the loving play of the water around her lower portions was interesting enough to keep her compliant.

Momentarily he felt bad for using her naïveté against her. Then she whimpered and wiggled, causing the water to surge up above his midriff, its heat seeping beyond the ribcage. 

Those irritating pangs of conscience dissolved with the last touch of iced rosewater still lingering in his gut.

She wanted the whole Jacuzzi experience. Well, she’d come to the right man for that.

Keeping his movements slow and languid Malcolm leaned across and claimed his lover’s lips in a deep, promising kiss. “Good?” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. Sam raised a sleepy murmur in reply. 

“That’s my girl.” Her breasts peeped through creamy mounds of bubbles, their rosy peaks already beautifully puckered. Gently he cupped them, rolling their softness in his palms and teasing the nipples until her head fell back and her legs drifted apart of their own volition.

Instantly she felt it. The pulse running underwater, aimed unerringly for her most sensitive spot. Sam shuddered. Squealed.

Small wavelets rolled from belly to breasts. “Ticklish!” she gasped.

His teeth replaced the thumb against her right nipple, their blunt tug firing another bullet of sensation into the pit of her stomach. Her shoulders arched. “Harder!”

His political masters never received such instant obedience. Sam jolted sharply, oblivious to the foaming wave she sent flopping over the tub’s edge. Working her left breast with one hand Malcolm grazed the other down over the rounded smoothness of her belly, fingers already splaying to play within her delicate lower lips.

“Oh!” Between his touch and the steady throb of the water jets she was all but overwhelmed; all her awareness focussed on the tantalising massage of her most intimate parts. 

Floating on the warm swirls of scented, steamy water Sam flowed around her lover’s dextrous fingers, squirming while he played: now blocking the stream; then shifting it, each small variant of the pressure against her clitoris sending a fresh spike of pleasure while with his free hand he roved across her breasts and his mouth worked the tender place where her neck and shoulder joined.

Multi-tasking. She hadn’t met many men who could manage it but with the right incentive Malcolm Tucker did it magnificently. It was usually Sam’s good fortune to be that incentive.

“Come on darlin’, don’t fight.” Even his voice brushed her glowing skin like a caress and she writhed against it, soft whimpers bubbling between her lips in reply. Her hips bucked. Her head threshed.

Malcolm’s fingers probed deeper. The water’s throb increased. Sam went with it, her voice rising on a shriek as it swamped her, pure, molten pleasure sweeping up from her core. 

Every nerve ending tingled; her brain cells shorted out. No longer in the water but of it she floated through her climax and down, drowning in a sea of warm, sandalwood-scented bliss. 

For several moments he let her drift, enthralled by the sweetly satisfied smile that curved her rosebud mouth. “Meet your expectations?” he asked when the first fluttering of long lashes proclaimed consciousness’s slow return. Sam stretched languidly.

“Better than _all_ my fantasies,” she confessed, lifting a head still pleasantly woollen to give him a hazy smile that sharpened at the pinched cast of his craggy features. “But you haven’t...”

“Plenty of time for me, lass.” With her limbs still softened and her mind still confused it was a moment’s work to insinuate himself between her legs. Sam sighed, letting her head fall back and her eyes slide shut, her mouth already puckering for his kiss. Yes she still felt tender, but with his body a barrier between her pussy and the water’s rhythm the tingly sensation lost its edge. She barely felt him slipping into her until he was fully sheathed, his low groan of relief vibrating against her ear.

“OK?” Always so considerate. The polar opposite of his public image. Sam twisted, swiping his jugular with her tongue.

“Hmmmm.” If he expected eloquence, tough. She was never at her most sparkling when his cock was filling her fit to burst and as he moved with the sluggish roll of the water around them Sam could feel the spiral begin to wind again, her pleasantly jellified legs finding just enough strength to lock around his waist. 

He was close. From her fluffy cloud of utter satiation she could feel it in every tremor that ran through him, every ragged, uncontrolled thrust that caused towering waves to break against his shoulders. 

She scooped a handful of velvety bubbles, dribbling them down his spine before raking her short nails in their wake the way that always made him jerk and moan. The water danced around them, pressing a billion butterfly kisses to her skin. Sam moaned aloud, dragging one hand up to twist in his short grey hair, tantalised by the tickle of the fine strands against her wet palm. _Come on, come on, let it happen Malc, come on_ , the words ran through her head like a prayer, her body liquid, molten around him.

Engrossed in his onrushing climax she was caught unawares by the force of her own, sweeping out on the hot flood of his release almost before her startled mind could register it was happening. Succumbing to its heady rush Sam clung on while the bathwater surged and slopped around them, its sloshing warmth as cosseting as a fleecy blanket on the long, sweet slide down toward oblivion. 

How long she hung like that, weightless in suspended animation, Sam could never tell. Malcolm purred contentedly against her neck, spreading moist heat against her skin with each lengthening breath. Thanks to the marvels of modern plumbing the whirling water stayed soothingly warm, the kiss of bubbles against Sam’s exposed forearm almost as tender as her lover’s touch. “Mmmm,” she snuffled, the turbulence of the water bumping her deliciously against her playmate. “Mmmmm.”

“Yeah.” Coherence always came back quicker to him – no surprise there, given his usual way with words. Carefully Malcolm eased free of her embrace, chivalrous enough even in his slack-jawed state of bliss to keep his body between the pulsing water stream and her highly sensitised core an extra few moments. Causing another small tidal wave he splashed to her side and lay back with a relived groan, resting his head on the broad bath surround. “Maybe I won’t look for that fucking Travel Lodge after all.”

“Don’t you dare.” Luxury had its benefits; the owner of a wardrobe full of designer suits shouldn’t need reminding of that. “How d’ you turn the jets off? It’s a bit much just now…”

He reared up out of the tub like a skinny Neptune, unusually graceless in clambering up the broad flight of shallow steps, and splashed out onto a marble tiled floor subtly lit and heated from below. Fascinated by the glistening rivulets that flowed down his chest Sam made no move to follow until he clucked impatiently, thrusting out a hand. “Well come on, lass! Unless you’re planning to spend the night in there?”

“Not bloody likely.” With him alongside her Sam was willing to concede the idea had its appeal, but alone – no. Obediently she scrambled after him, straight into a warm, fluffy towel held open in welcome. “Oi! Get in here with me, Tucker! It’s more than big enough for two.”

Ordinarily the business of patting each other’s naked bodies with softly sensuous cloth would cause a very specific reaction in both parties but this time – two monumental orgasms in quick succession probably explained it for her, Sam realised – the sensation was oddly soothing. By the time they were curled up between the finest translucent cotton sheets, the bed’s draperies swaying in a perfumed tent around them, she felt tranquil, drowsy and utterly content.

“We should always be invited on these junkets, I think,” she murmured, just alert enough to feel his shiver of amusement running into her. “It’s always wise to have the Comms Director handy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not all seven star hotels with gold plated bog seats, you know.” Dropping a kiss on her crown, Malcolm manoeuvred her until she was draped across him, her head pillowed cosily on his shoulder. Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, sometimes you really have to rough it in those five star dumps, don’t you?”

His softly rumbled “Impossible girl!” serenaded her into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I did warn you - perfectly pointless smut! I really should try writing something with a plot someday! Thanks to everyone who has been kind enough to read and review.


End file.
